


and with thy lips dispell this curse

by paranoid_fridge



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Fairy Tale Curses, Happily Ever After, M/M, Mutual Pining, Schmoop, a dash of humor, true love saves all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-21
Updated: 2016-12-21
Packaged: 2018-09-09 07:38:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8881678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paranoid_fridge/pseuds/paranoid_fridge
Summary: In a word where neither the One Ring nor the Arkenstone exists and all survive the battle, Bilbo encounters a strange, magical creature while helping to evacuate Dale for the coming winter. He thinks nothing of it initially – but then he watches his own arm pass through solid wood and sees Thorin’s eyes widen in fear and call for him.
“I’m right here.” Bilbo wants to say, but cannot make a sound. 
Not when he has been cursed to disappear.
 
Now, if you prefer to read this in Chinese: wait no longer!





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Irrealia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Irrealia/gifts).



> Happy Holidays Dear Irrealia! I hope you're having a grand time, and will enjoy this as well! 
> 
> Note: In this universe neither the Arkenstone nor the One Ring exists. Thus, while the gold was affected by Smaug, Thorin suffered from gold sickness not nearly as badly, and neither the betrayal nor the parapet scene happened.

The setting sun casts an orange glow over the snow-covered ruins of Dale and Bilbo glances to the northern sky. Thick clouds blow in on an icy wind, and he shivers under thick layers of beautifully cut dwarven clothes. If all goes well he will be in Erebor before long, warm up at his fireplace, and share an ale with his friends.

“I think this is all, Bilbo,” Ori calls over from the other side of the square. Next to him several of Dain’s soldiers load blankets and stores onto a goat-drawn wagon. With winter approaching they agreed to evacuate Dale – it will be easier to weather the winter within the warm halls of Erebor.

“Alright,” Bilbo calls back. “I’ll just check the last house here.”

“Wait, Bilbo, at least take guards –“

Bilbo ducks around the corner and makes his way to the crumbling entrance of the former three-story stone building. The door has long since rotted away, and the inside is as cold as the air outside. It’s unlikely somebody has been sheltering here, but over the course of evacuating the city they discovered a number of citizens too old or too sick to stand under their own power in buildings like these.

“Hello?” he calls out, carefully sniffing the air while his eyes get used to the dim light. The wind has blown snow and soot over the cracked floor and the few remaining pieces of furniture. It smells faintly of ash and ice – nothing to indicate recent human occupation, and Bilbo allows himself to relax.

Another gust of wind howls through the porous stones. Having adjusted to the dim light, Bilbo inspects the interior. He stands in a rather large entrance room and spies a staircase at the back, yet that has long since crumbled. A short glance upward reveals that most of the upper floors gone, and the roof half-collapsed, revealing the grey evening sky.

Something moves in the corner of his eye.

Bilbo spins around. His hand goes to the sword under his cloak; fingers grasping the hilt tightly. “Who is there?” he asks.

The house is silent. But Bilbo knows what he saw.

“Step out, please,” he says and moves forward quietly. “If you need shelter and food, we can help you.” Even if it’s an orc, they may just allow it to run. Winter will kill it before it can reach any of its brethren.

There is an uneven spot of shadow curled in the corner under the crumbled staircase. From a distance it could have easily been dismissed. Up close, Bilbo realizes it is a crouched person.

He puts his feet firmly onto the ground and draws Sting. “Come forward,” he demands.

Perhaps, Bilbo thinks in the split moment before the shadow moves like water, he should have called for guards –

Like Smaug rising from the gold, the figure uncurls itself, stretching up until it towers over Bilbo, black-cloaked and masked and unnaturally silent. Only the air smells of ash.

“Who are you?” Bilbo challenges and forces his voice to keep from trembling. This one does not look like one of Bard’s men. “What is your business here?”

The figure – twice Bilbo’s height – gives no indication of listening to Bilbo. It sways with a faint, whispering noise like nails running over chalk and the hair on Bilbo’s neck stands.

Enough, he thinks.

“Guards!” he shouts out loudly, hoping the dwarves are close enough. “Intru-“

An ice cold hand grasps his shoulder and the touch burns through a several layers of fur and cloth, right into Bilbo’s skin. His mouth falls open in a silent scream; the air vanishes from his lungs. The figure bends down and Bilbo wrenches his shoulder back, grits his teeth against the flash of pain, and brings Sting up in front of him.

“Who are you?” he demands again with his heart hammering in his throat. “What do you want?”

Outside snow crunches under heavy boots. “Master Baggins?” somebody shouts.

“Where did he go?”

“In there!”

Thank Eru for Ori, Bilbo thinks, and in his momentary distraction the figure strikes. It brushes past Sting like water, forces Bilbo wrist aside. Sting clatters to the ground, the world tilts: Bilbo hits the stone with a hard thud, and while his ears ring those ice-cold fingers grip his face.

The masked head swims over his own, unmoving, but sibilant hissing reaches his ears.

“ _You shouldn’t have interfered_ ,” it whispers and cold burns at Bilbo’s cheeks. His fingers scab uselessly across the floor, trying to grasp Sting. “ _You shouldn’t have been there_.”

The fingers tighten. Bilbo tries to buck the other off, but the figure is barely corporeal, yet unmovable. “ _You shouldn’t be here_.”

Somebody bursts into the room.

“Master Baggins!”

“ _Disappear_!” The creature hisses; and a gust of icy air that smells of ash and something else hits Bilbo’s face. For a moment he can’t breathe.

“Let him go at once!”

Heavy footsteps pound over the ground; with a sharp clang of metal weapons are drawn. Bilbo gasps for air, his fingers pulling uselessly at the coarse fabric of the other’s black cloak.

“I said let go!”

The figure shifts lazily. Survey the scene. Disappears.

Its grip leaves Bilbo abruptly and simply fades into thin air. For a moment, an intangible cloud of twirling black air hovers above him – and then vanishes toward the violet sky.

Bilbo stares after it in puzzlement. Just what was this? What did it do? He can still feel the icy grip on his skin; can still feel the burn in his lungs. Yet he can also feel the hard stone under his back, the cold slowly crawling through his clothes, while his heart hammers away in his chest.

“Master Baggins, are you alright?” somebody shouts, and abruptly feet hit the floor right next to Bilbo. Somebody sits down, and Bilbo jerks back into reality. Draws in a deep breath and begins to cough; his lungs burn as if he’d swallowed a sack of dust.

“Did they hurt you?” the same concerned voice asks and gentle hands help him to sit up.

“Bilbo!” Ori cries out, following the small group of guards into the building. He steps a few paces from Bilbo and turns to the red-haired dwarf in charge of the unit. “Can you get some water or tea for him? What happened here?”

The dwarf begins an explanation; while somebody else presses a steaming cup of tea into Bilbo’s shaking hands. He dimly wonders where the liquid came from, and takes a first few sips in silence, until his heart has stopped pounding and he feels less shaken. Outside the sun has slipped below the horizon, and he spies the guards lighting torches.

They should make their return soon, ere Thorin and the others grow nervous.

“Bilbo,” Ori says, and Bilbo glances up to find Ori has joined him. “Did that thing do anything to you?”

Bilbo exhales and finds his lips quirking slowly. “It gave me a good scare, but nothing beyond that.”

Ori chuckles and shakes his head. “Do you have any idea what it was? Nobody seems to be so sure, and I didn’t really see it…”

“I have no idea,” Bilbo replies honestly. “Something magical, I suppose? Judging from the way it disappeared.” He glances over to Sting, lying next to him. The man - creature - had barely even felt solid under his fingers; he wonders whether he would have even been able to harm it with the blade.

Ori sighs. “I just hope it stays gone. We should inform Dwalin and Balin in any case – maybe somebody can identify it.”

Bilbo nods, and with a thank-you hands the now empty teacup back. His face yet burns where the creature touched it, but he feels steadier now. So when Ori asks him if he’s ready to go back he nods and accepts the offered hand up.

* * *

 

The encounter gets reported immediately. While Dwalin still asks question after question out of the poor dwarf leading the excursion, the King under the Mountain himself flies into the hall, crown askew with Balin, Nori, Oin, and a number of other dwarves trailing behind him.

“Bilbo!” he exclaims, and his eyes light up when he catches sight of the hobbit among the buzzing crowd. He quickly crosses the distance, and stops himself from reaching out at the very last moment.

“Bilbo, are you alright? I heard what happened, and –“

“I’m quite fine,” Bilbo ascertains with a small smile. His eyes burn with fatigue, but looking at Thorin fills him with warmth. And a part of him wishes that Thorin had reached out and touched him. But perhaps that is only Bilbo’s foolish heart wishing for too much.

“Really,” Bilbo hurries to add when Thorin nods to Oin. “Nothing much happened. That thing said something and vanished.”

Nori tilts his head with sudden interest. “What did it say?”

“Nothing – well, it didn’t really make sense,” Bilbo replies and begins to unbutton his cloak. It’s warm inside the mountain, now that they’ve closed the gates. In the brightly lit halls it’s easy to forget the cold and the darkness outside, as well as any strange magical creatures.

“Something about me not being supposed to have been there. I don’t know if it really meant me, or what it was talking about anyway,” Bilbo says. A yawn cuts off anything more, and he feels exhaustion course through him again.

“Could it have been a spy?” Balin opinions carefully. “Who was surprised by Bilbo.”

“What would a spy be doing in Dale?” somebody else protests. “And what kind of spy vanishes into thin air like that?”

Nori’s lips stretch into a thin smile. “Oh, there are a number of reasons for both. Not all interested in Erebor will be dwarf, men, elf, or orc. There are quite a few other parties out there, Master Melin.”

Melin huffs, but Bilbo ignores the conversation in favor of focusing on Thorin. A small wrinkle has settled between Thorin’s brows, and shadows line his eyes.

“Have you slept lately?” Bilbo inquires quietly.

Thorin gaze shifts from the busy scene beyond back to Bilbo. “As much as you have, I suppose,” he replies. “You look exhausted.”

Bilbo has been sleeping rather well, to tell the truth. “I’m fine,” he says. “Just well, that thing surprised me.”

“It hurt you, too,” Thorin says. He lifts warm fingers to brush over Bilbo’s cheeks where the ice still lingers just underneath the skin. A warm tingle runs through Bilbo, and his eyes shut without him intending to. The soft touch loosens something in his chest; some magic within it makes it wonderful despite the bruises that Thorin’s calloused fingers drift across.

“It’s just a bruise,” Bilbo whispers.

“Still,” Thorin protests.

“Anyway,” Nori declares loudly, and abruptly Bilbo and Thorin recall they are in the middle of a crowded hall and simultaneously step apart. “Let’s keep an eye on the situation, but with the doors closed we probably shouldn’t worry too much.”

This isn’t quite the truth. But it’s what the dwarves and men busy unloading the wagons and taking stock need to hear.

* * *

 

Bilbo barely manages to change out of his day clothes and crawl under the covers before he falls asleep. He sleeps deeply, yet uneasy, twisting and turning on the wide, luxurious bed the dwarves readied for him. The crackling of the warm fire sounds like rustling air, and shadowy figures dance in his dreams.

_Disappear_ , they chant.

_Disappeardisappeardisappear. You must disappear._

Bilbo doesn’t want to disappear.

His eyes fly open to a now familiar ceiling. Sweat soaks through his sleeping clothes, and he stares at warmly lit room with his heart hammering in his throat for a very long moment. Then his brain muddles out what is real and what isn’t, and with a groan he relaxes.

Nightmares, really, he thinks, and stretches his arm to reach for the water pitcher next to his bed. His throat feels uncomfortably dry, rather as if he’d inhaled ash and dust. Perhaps a leftover from today’s excursion, he thinks, and frowns when his fingers fail to grasp the pitcher.

Bilbo turns over.

The pitcher hasn’t moved. Bilbo knew where he set it; knows he can grasp it without looking. His hand sits in the right position as well.

But instead of grasping it, his fingers slide right through the pitcher.

That cannot be right, Bilbo’s sleep-addled mind protests, but his nervous heart picks up again, and Bilbo consciously puts his hand into right position and moves his fingers. They close around cool, smooth metal.

He blinks.

Well, so much for his mind, he thinks, and brings the water to his lips with a small sigh of relief. Without sleep, it comes up with funny things.

Which, more than anything, is a very good reason to go back to sleep. And this time no dreams follow.

* * *

 

The next day is no less busy than the last. At breakfast Bilbo is greeted by Bombur and Bofur who both ask after his well-being. Dori drifts by and reminds Bilbo to not go anywhere outside of Erebor on his own. At least not now. Or maybe not later either, because he is a rather important person, and unsavory characters may try to use that and –

“Don’t worry, Dori,” Bilbo interrupts the white-haired dwarf before he can develop the scenarios any further. “I think I learned my lesson. But the gates are closed for now anyway.”

After that he is spirited away to Gloin’s side. With the last wagon-load of supplies brought in, the bookkeepers worked through the night to merge all lists. Now Bilbo, Gloin and the remaining staff needs to figure out how to ration their stores to see everyone through the winter.

The long, complex lines of calculation keep Bilbo distracted until an itch in his throat starts up again. Without looking up he reaches over, only for his fingers to meet air.

Bilbo’s forehead wrinkles. He looks up – to see his hand hover right in the jug. His entire arm has grown transparent.

What in Eru’s name is happening, Bilbo wonders, staring in bewilderment. How is this possible?

Curiously, he moves his arm. He can see is passing through the jug, the inkwell, even the solid wood of the desk. And he doesn’t feel anything at all.

His breath gets stuck in his throat. Panic surges. This –

Isn’t real, he thinks when his hand settles down on his own lap. He can feel the soft, warm fabric of his trousers against the skin on the back of his hand, and relief sweeps him like a physical wave. With a small sigh his shoulders slump.

These episodes aren’t funny at all.

“Bilbo?” Gloin asks from one desk over. “Is everything alright?”

How would one even explain something like this, Bilbo thinks as he answers affirmative Gloin’s question. They’d think him insane, and they’d be right. Perhaps the rock to his head did damage him after all.

(But then, how did he manage to pass his arm through the solid wood of the desk? He saw that, and he never had reason to doubt his eyesight).

Bilbo pushes it from his mind and returns to the numbers.

Lunch comes and passes, and before long Bilbo stands from his chair to stretch. His back cracks in disapproval.

“I’m getting too old for this,” he grumbles, earning several chuckles from the dwarves around him.

“If you’re looking to move anyway, how about you take our first forecast to the King?” Gloin suggests. “He’s probably sick of whatever he’s been doing all day by now.”

“Yes, because our task is so much more interesting,” somebody snorts.

“At least we don’t have to deal with the elves,” comes the response from even further in the chamber, and most laugh before turning back to their calculations. Bilbo accepts the proffered documents from Gloin with a nod, and slips on his cloak. The chamber is quite warm, but Erebor’s corridors remain cool.

He steps outside, takes a deep breath, and begins the trek toward Erebor’s upper levels.

Restoration is progressing well. Among soldiers and supplies, Dain left behind a group of highly skilled laborers. Paired with clever oversight by Balin and Thorin, and the support Bard’s group provides, the main corridors no longer bear any trace of damage and devastation. It’s slightly disconcerting when Bilbo easily recalls the cracked pillars and claw-marked tiles.

He shakes his head to dispel the memories and knocks on the door. Without waiting for a reply, he lets himself into the small council chamber. Like the main corridors, this one has been restored – beautiful mosaics decorate its wall, and the dome-like ceiling has been studded with diamonds imitating the stars outside.

“Bilbo,” Thorin greets from the far end of the room where he is seated behind a sturdy stone desk. Balin inclines his head in greeting, too, before turning to the other advisors. “I believe we can discuss the rest tomorrow?”

They nod and take their leave, respectfully mumbling a greeting at Bilbo in passing. He returns it, still a little taken aback at how easily some dwarves have accepted him.

“We finished the first projections,” Bilbo announces and sees Balin’s eyes light up. “Gloin decided to calculate the worst case scenarios first.” He lifts the rolls of parchment.

Balin takes them and immediately unfolds the first one. “Yes, yes, good…” Then he glances up, and smiles. “You know, how about I read these in my office, and you just brief Thorin on it. He doesn’t need to know the exact details, just –“

“I would like to know the details,” Thorin protests petulantly. He even reaches out to pat the crown sitting on the desk in front of him.

“Then ask Bilbo,” Balin replies drily.

Bilbo says nothing, but watches with amusement as Balin drifts out of the room with the parchments under his arm, while Thorin signs the last of the documents in front of him. With a loud sigh the King under the Mountain lays down his quill and looks to Bilbo.

“You’d think he was the King,” he mutters.

Bilbo chuckles and makes his way over to the desk. “I think I understand what he’s doing.”

“And so do I,” Thorin grumbles. “But it’s not necessary.”  Then he runs a hand through his hair and betrays his exhaustion. “We all could use a break.”

Agreeing, Bilbo sits down on one of the rather comfortable chairs in front of the desk. He takes a moment to gather his thoughts, ignores the faint scratching in his throat.

Then Thorin’s eyes widen. “Bilbo?” he asks.

Bilbo looks up. Only to see Thorin staring right through him. As if he wasn’t there. The King under the Mountain looks to the right, to the left, up, down – his eyes fly through the room. In puzzlement Bilbo glances over his own shoulder, but there’s nothing there.

“Bilbo?” Thorin asks again, subdued panic in his voice, and Bilbo glances down at himself.

To see only the chair’s upholstery. It’s a cushion made from rich green velvet with golden stitching. It also absolutely shouldn’t be visible through his clothes and his actual body.

Bilbo’s own heart jumps. This is like last night, like this morning. Only it’s not just his arm –

“I’m here –“ He tries to say, but his voice doesn’t come out at all. Fear rises in his chest. What is happening? This shouldn’t be possible, how can he just be disappearing?  “Thorin.”

The King’s name is audible. This time Bilbo can feel the air shift. Suddenly the green velvet is no longer visible. And his own frightened gaze meets Thorin’s wide eyes.

“Bilbo,” Thorin says, staring at the hobbit with utter confusion. “What happened?”

Bilbo hides his trembling hands in the too-long sleeves of his coat. “I don’t know,” he replies shakily.

“This isn’t … some hobbitish quirk?” Thorin asks, pale-faced.

With the same anxiety in his heart, Bilbo shakes his head.

“Has this happened before?”

“Not like this.”

Thorin takes a shuddering breath. Then he stands and walks around the desk to sink into the other chair next to Bilbo. He reaches out, but stops his hand just above Bilbo’s arm. “Are you … what … Bilbo, what was that?”

“I have no idea,” Bilbo confesses and forces his hand to abandon its cover. As it brushes against Thorin’s, a spike of warmth runs down his spine. His pulse begins to slow down. “I only… last night and earlier this morning something similar happened. I wasn’t certain initially – it was just me reaching for something and being unable to grasp it.”

“You disappeared entirely, Bilbo,” Thorin returns and clasps Bilbo’s hand tightly with his own. “For a moment you were gone.” His voice quivers.

Something in Bilbo’s chest tightens. “That hasn’t happened before.”

At least he doesn’t think so. He didn’t attempt to speak during the night. He didn’t look into a mirror when he failed to grasp the jug.

Thorin inhales deeply, visibly steadying himself. “Do you have any idea what could have caused this?” His fingers tighten unconsciously around Bilbo’s hand, and Bilbo finds he truly doesn’t mind.

He cannot answer the question. “I don’t know. Perhaps the stranger I encountered yesterday had something to do with it –“ whatever kind of being it was, it had magic, and it did talk about Bilbo disappearing – “but I can’t say for certain.”

Thorin closes his eyes for a moment. When he opens them again and looks at Bilbo, they shine with affection and grief. “I am truly sorry for the peril this has brought you. I have brought you. Had you stayed in your Shire…”

“I would be a very grouchy hobbit who would have seen far less of the world,” Bilbo finishes for him with a wry smile.  “I told you before, Thorin. I may not be very fond of dangers, but I am glad I came on this adventure.” Meeting you, Bilbo adds to himself, was the best thing that ever happened to me.

“Still,” Thorin returns and his shoulders slump. “Here you are, getting hurt again.” His eyes find the fading bruises on Bilbo’s cheeks. “All on my behalf.”

“I don’t think that stranger had anything to do with you,” Bilbo says lightly. Truly, if anything he has to blame himself for getting attacked – everybody has been telling him to keep with the guards.  “Anyway, how about we consult with Oin? Maybe he has some idea what could be causing this.”

And hopefully will be able to tell them that this is merely the result of coming into contact with strange magic. Some weird side effect that will wear off in a few days.

* * *

 

Oin stares at them incredulously. “I have never heard anything like this.”

Bilbo swallows drily. Thorin draws himself up in his chair. “Are you certain? Perhaps it used to be known under a different name.”

Behind his desk Oin crosses his arms over his chest. “I’m fairly certain they’d have been clear on people just vanishing into thin air. That’s no symptom of any sickness I know. That’s not even some well-known magical phenomenon.”

Unease coils in Bilbo’s stomach. “Where would you look for unknown symptoms, then?” he inquires before Thorin can demand an impossible answer.

Oin’s frown lightens. “The library, obviously. Though if what you’re saying is true, I’d rather say to look at books on magic. Maybe curses.”

Thorin flinches. “Could this have something to do with the gold?” Smaug’s curse ought to have been broken – Gandalf himself told them so when they prepared the mountain for battle.

“Eh, I don’t think so,” Oin replies thoughtfully. “Then again, I don’t know anything about hobbits.”

Thorin turns to Bilbo anxiously.  “Dale isn’t ready for habitation, but if you would go to the Iron Hills, I believe we could arrange –“

Oin’s eyebrows rise and Bilbo is shaking his head before Thorin has even finished his mad suggestion. “Thorin, I’m not leaving in the middle of winter,” he says. He’d rather not leave at all, but he doesn’t know what the world will look like in spring. Whether there will still be space for a lone hobbit in a kingdom of dwarves.

“Yes, of course,” Thorin agrees, though the fearful light in his eyes hasn’t vanished.

“Thorin, don’t worry,” Bilbo tells him gently. “We’ll figure this out. Or maybe it will stop on its own. But you’ve got reports to read and letters to write, and I think that may be more important right now.” He sees Oin nod from the corner of his eye. “I’ll go to the library and ask Ori for any clues.”

Thorin takes a deep breath. “Alright,” he says and his expression softens. “But see me tonight. I don’t know if I’ll manage to join everyone for dinner, so please just come to my rooms. Else I won’t be able to sleep.”

Bilbo’s treacherous heart sings. He wants to kiss Thorin.

But he knows better than to read too deeply into these displays of affection. Thorin cares for everyone, and Bilbo knows they share an extraordinary bond. It’s a precious and pure thing, and Bilbo would rather not spoil it by greed.

“I’ll come,” he promises instead. “And now, I’m afraid we’ve got work waiting for us.”

“Work some of us could be getting done if it wasn’t for fools occupying their office,” Oin mutters. Bilbo cringes, Thorin scratches his beard sheepishly, and with a shushing motion Oin hurries them out.

* * *

 

Initially Bilbo hesitates to go to the library. He is needed for the projections. Taking time off to investigate those curious yet minuscule disappearing spells – which still scarcely seem real – strikes him as unreasonable.

Then he disappears on a staircase and the two dwarves coming down don’t see him at all. Bilbo takes a hurried step aside, squeezes himself against the bannister. The black abyss below is far too close – he totters for a moment, flings out an arm that passes straight through one of the dwarves’ heads – and then sinks to his knees.

His heart pounds in his ears. Sweat beads his back.

No, he thinks, he needs to investigate these spells. They may yet grow into more than a nuisance, and Bilbo would rather not find out what happens should he totter off a staircase when invisible.

* * *

 

Ori is as busy as everyone else, and while Bilbo’s request obviously makes him curious, he is diligent and simply tells Bilbo where to look.

“Though I’m afraid most books will be in Khuzdul,” he adds apologetically.

Bilbo shakes his head, lifts the hand and turns toward the corridor. “Don’t worry about it. I’m on a bit of a goose chase anyway.” He keeps his voice light and hopes that the library’s dim light hides the tension on his face.

Then he walks into the corridor of books. Shelves form a labyrinth, filled with books and rolls of parchment from the bottom to the ceiling. Barely any space has been left empty, and the while the front corridors already have been dusted and relit, Bilbo knows that some corners of Erebor’s gigantic libraries still have not seen a visitor since before Smaug.

Slowly the hustle behind him dies down. Soon, it is only him among a few recently installed light fixtures. His own lamp reveals titles, and Bilbo takes another glance at the note Ori wrote for him.

This should be about right.

* * *

 

“Did you discover anything in the library?” Thorin inquires when Bilbo enters his rooms later that night. He has shed his royal coat and his hair falls in long waves over his shoulder. Cast against the warm glow of a fire, he looks far too attractive, Bilbo thinks as he gratefully takes a seat next to Thorin.

“Nothing,” Bilbo replies with a shake of his head and a sigh. He did learn a number of interesting things about magic, dwarven history, and the uses of various crystals, but nothing related to disappearing spells.  “Or well, if there is something I didn’t find it. Most of the books are in Khuzdul, after all.”

Thorin frowns unhappily. “Somebody should look into those books, then,” he mumbles.

“It would take a lot of time,” Bilbo counters, looking toward the fire. Exhaustion is settling between his eyes. “And we don’t even know what exactly we are looking for.”

“Still, it’s something I would rather see resolved quickly,” Thorin returns evenly. He studies Bilbo, takes in the longer curls and skinnier build. There are even faint scars on Bilbo now – one hidden under his hair, others on his hands.

“Did it happen again?”

Bilbo’s eyes leave the fire to return to Thorin and his fingers unconsciously fiddle with the hem of his blue coat. A lie rests on the tip of his tongue, but then his eyes find Thorin’s and see the concern there.

“Twice,” he breathes out. “On the stairs and in the library. Just for a short moment.” And he doesn’t think anybody noticed.

Thorin’s face falls and he slumps in his armchair. “Mahal, Bilbo,” he sighs.

Bilbo’s gaze lands on the rug as he hunches up his shoulders. It’s not that bad, he wants to say, though that would be a lie. Instead he studies the geometric patterns. Whoever restored it did a splendid job – not even Bilbo’s keen eye can make out any tears in the fabric.

“We really need to figure this out as fast as possible,” Thorin says, drawing Bilbo from his thoughts. “If this continues – I don’t even want to think about what could happen.”

Neither does Bilbo.

He wets his lips, struggling to find anything to say. “It won’t be so bad,” he tries. “Maybe the episodes will stop tomorrow.”

Thorin’s lips quirk. “In that case I shall be the happiest person in Erebor tomorrow.” His face grows solemn once more. “But I would rather be prepared.”

* * *

 

The next morning, they tell the company. Their reactions range from sheer disbelief (Gloin) to utter fascination (Kili) to nearly suffocating concern (Dori).

“You shouldn’t be alone, then,” he announces, pacing the length of the council chamber which is slightly crowded by fourteen occupants. “What if you disappear and nobody notices? What if you get lost? Somebody needs to know where you are at all times!”

Ori actually nods, and so does Dwalin despite the dark frown across his face. “I could get two guards for the job,” he offers. “Reliable. Good character. Very skilled.”

“Look,” Bilbo interrupts grumpily. He slept badly and feels it today – three times he woke, three times he watched himself disappear. And the last spell lasted long enough for him to climb out of bed and approach a mirror and gain the surreal experience of not seeing himself. “I appreciate your suggestion, but I’m not in danger of being assassinated or something. I’m certain there are better uses for your dwarves, Dwalin.”

Dwalin purses his lips in silent protest, and Bilbo knows he’s right. Everybody currently ought to be doing more important things than watching over their lone hobbit and his freak condition. However, Bilbo is admittedly glad he isn’t facing this alone.

“Did your search last night turn up anything?” Balin inquires from the desk. He’d been polite enough to stand back and not crowd Bilbo upon the announcement.

“Nothing very useful, though I can’t read the majority of the books, anyway,” he answers.

“But it only started happening after you ran into that strange wizard?” Bofur asks. Bilbo affirms, and then Bifur begins speaking and gesturing. Several heads turn into his direction, until Bombur scratches his head and says: “Bifur says he’s pretty certain that sounds like a curse. Head injuries don’t cause you to vanish entirely.”

“Then we ask Gandalf for help?” Kili wonders out loud. “I mean, he’s a wizard, too. He should be able to solve this.”

“There is more than one wizard,” Fili admonishes, and Kili only shrugs. “We write to all of them?”

Somebody moans quietly and a whispered “oh Mahal” makes even Bilbo smile despite the burn behind his eyelids. Kili ignores the interruption. His eyes light up.

“What if it’s no curse?” he contemplates with sparkling eyes. “Maybe it’s some special ability hobbit develop once they turn – how old are you again, Bilbo? And anyway, wouldn’t it be terribly useful? You’d make the perfect spy. Think about how easy sneaking up on Smaug would have been – he wouldn’t have been able to see you at all.”

“… you are aware that dragons also generally have a rather astute sense of smell?” Gloin inquires drily. “His eyes were never exactly the issue.”

Somebody coughs.

“Also I don’t have any plans on making a career in espionage,” Bilbo hurries to add, because a glance to the side shows the wheels in Nori’s head already turning. Even Balin apparently found merit in the idea – only Thorin looks as horrified as Bilbo feels. “Sneaking up on one dragon was quite enough, thank you very much.”

“It wouldn’t be a dragon…” Kili mutters.

“Be that as it may,” Thorin interrupts, drawing himself up and his cloak whispers as he moves. “As long as this phenomenon remains uncontrollable, I believe it poses a significant danger to Bilbo. We will contact the wizards, though a reply may take a while due to the weather.”

He gazes at his company, calm and regal, and Bilbo’s heart skips a beat at the sight. Then it skips another three when he remembers that this is for him. Thorin is doing all of this on Bilbo’s behalf.

“In the meantime I ask you to research any possible solution,” Thorin continues. “We all owe much to Bilbo. It is only right that we do this for him.”

The burn in Bilbo’s eyes abruptly doesn’t stem from fatigue alone anymore.

* * *

 

True to their word, his dwarves rarely leave him out of their sight. Even when he takes a seat as his desk next to Gloin, he notices the dwarf glancing over ever so often. And then the visits start.

First Fili and Kili prance by, presenting the results of their research: spells and kisses.

“Maybe it needs a wizard to cast it,” Fili mumbles after his own recital of a spell in ancient Khuzdul (or mangled ancient Khuzdul if Gloin’s facial expressions hold any truth) fails to have any effect. Gloin pats his shoulder.

“I think the spell’s not necessary,” Kili adds with a confident smirk. “You only need to kiss the right person.”

Bilbo skeptically raises one eyebrow. “What person?” He asks. A wizard? Some kind of enchanted elf? He thinks he’d be able to do it, though it doesn’t exactly make sense.

“Your true love,” Kili replies immediately, beaming. “Because they don’t want you to disappear just as much if not more as you don’t want to disappear, and their affections for you likely outweigh any ill will the caster of the curse held against you.”

“That makes a surprising lot of sense,” Gloin comments. “One kiss of my wife would keep any soul anchored deeply – not even death could –“

“I doubt your wife would be Bilbo’s true love,” Fili interrupts and his expression paints a curious study between amusement and bewilderment. Much as Bilbo feels right now – he has met Gloin’s wife, and he does like her, but he’d rather not kiss her.

Especially since, should it turn out to be the remedy indeed, it would raise some highly uncomfortable questions.

Gloin apparently agrees.

Kili, ever one for straight questions and easy answers, tilts his head toward Bilbo. “So who is your love?” he asks. “If they’re in the Shire, it may take some time to get them here, though…”

Bilbo feels the blood rush to his cheeks. “I, err, there isn’t anybody, really,” he stutters out, to the visible disbelief of the three dwarves watching him. And Bilbo’s heart twinges with pain, because as much as he loves Thorin, he doubts the dwarf King feels the same type of affection for him in return.

“No, truly, I … It’s a lovely idea, Kili, but that’s the way it works in fairytales,” he gently admonishes. “I doubt that will solve it, but thank you for suggesting it.”

Kili’s face falls, and the downtrodden look makes Bilbo feel terrible about himself. “But I’ll remember it,” he hastens to add. “I mean, it probably can’t hurt to try.”

Kili perks up.

“You’re not kissing my wife, though,” Gloin protests.

* * *

 

In the end Bilbo doesn’t need to kiss anybody. Ori shows up, takes one look at the situation, and calmly lets Fili and Kili know that Dwalin was looking for them. Whether he was or not, Bilbo can’t tell – Ori has grown into a surprisingly conniving liar.

Or maybe he always was one and Bilbo simply never noticed.

As Ori found a few more books potentially of interest, he invites Bilbo to come along. Bifur is already in the study adjacent to the library (Bilbo isn’t certain whether it is an actual room, or a room that appeared after enough books were piled up to form walls and somebody just added a door centuries later), making his way through books in ancient Khuzdul. He grunts in greeting, Bilbo opens his mouth to reply.

But his “Hello” never becomes audible.

Instead he hears a gasp and watches Ori’s jaw drop and Bifur glance up from his ancient tome only for his eyes to widen incredulously. A terribly realization dawns on Bilbo and he glances down at himself.

But there is nothing. No dark blue coat embroided with silver stars. No naked feet with well-combed hair.

Only clean marble tile.

“Bilbo?” Ori asks tentatively. “Are you there?”

Of course, Bilbo wants to shout. I’m right here. But his words will never be heard; he cannot even reach out to touch his friends.

Bifur begins talking in rapid Khuzdul. Ori hesitates to look to him, despite being unable to see Bilbo at all. He nods a few times.

Meanwhile Bilbo tries not to panic. He’s always reappeared. It never lasted for long.

Has it ever lasted this long before?

Isn’t this the longest it has been?

What if he doesn’t reappear?

What if he stays like this?

His heart speeds up, and his chest struggles to expand. It’s like an iron band had wrapped around it and kept him from breathing, and he can taste ash on his tongue, and –

His knees hit hard marble tiles. He hears himself gasping for air, and then Ori exclaims his name, a chair is pushed back, footsteps hurry over. A hand touches his shoulder, and Bilbo just focuses on breathing. The air burns in his lungs and his mind races. If this sticks, if he disappears forever, what will happen to him?

“Bilbo, look at me, please,” Ori requests and gentle hands nudge his chin upwards.

Bilbo doesn’t even try to resist, far too disturbed at the episode. His fingers spasm helplessly against the floor, and he can only imagine what a mess he must look like.

Ori’s forehead wrinkles. “You’re not looking very good,” he says calmly. Which, if Bilbo looks even a little the way he feels, is the understatement of the century. “How about we let Oin take a look at you?”

What would he even find? Disappearing episodes can’t be diagnosed.

“Just to make sure you’re not catching a fever from the stress of this all,” Ori adds with a small smile. “I was thinking this morning that you were looking a little peaky already.”

Bifur says something that sounds like agreement. Then he crouches down next to Bilbo and holds out his arms. Bilbo may not understand what he says, but he gladly accepts the helping hand up.

* * *

 

Bilbo doesn’t recall much of getting to the infirmary. He fades in and out of consciousness. Somewhere he is aware of people talking, aware that this will cause rumors and possibly issues for Thorin, but he is completely and utterly exhausted.

When he comes to, he is on a cot in the infirmary. His cloak has been taken off and somebody undid the topmost buttons on his shirt. He’s alone, and with a small sigh he turns onto his side and closes his eyes again.

The next time he finds Dori sitting at a desk, working his way through a knitting project, an empty cup of tea next to him. Bilbo blearily fathoms that quite some time has passed, though he can’t quite find the words to say. His tongue is too heavy.

Everything is heavy. He doesn’t notice the clacking of the needles stopping.

“Oh, you’re awake?” Dori asks, standing up to approach. “That’s good.” Up close, Bilbo can see that the smile doesn’t reach Dori’s eyes; that his face bears that tiny wrinkle he always has when worrying about somebody.

“You scared Oin rather badly – he came in to find the bed empty and thought you’d left,” Dori reports, and one of his hands forms a tight fist. “You did reappear a little later, still dead to the world. He decided you’re not to be let out of sight for now.”

Bilbo swallows drily.

He’d not even been awake for the episode, and knowing that makes his heart heavier again.

“I have to admit, it’s rather frightening,” Dori continues, and Bilbo sucks in a sharp breath. So he disappeared more than once. It’s … frightening, indeed. “One moment you’re there, the next moment … nothing.” Dori shakes his head, and reaches out to pat Bilbo’s shoulder.  “Balin wrote and sent those letters. I’m sure we’ll get replies soon.”

“Thank you,” Bilbo replies quietly. His voice sounds hoarse, a little choked. He wonders if somebody would have done so much for him in the Shire.

“Don’t you worry,” Dori reassures him. “Leave this one to us, Bilbo. We’ll figure it out.”

* * *

 

That night everybody gathers in the infirmary. Bombur carries up a large pot of soup, and behind him Bofur, Gloin, Dwalin, and Dori follow with even more dishes. Delicious smells waft through the room, and Kili brings out his fiddle to play a cheerful tune. Fili rolls in a barrel of ale, and before long Bofur is singing terrible songs and Bilbo’s stomach aches from laughing.

His fingers curl on the mattress a hair’s breadth away from Thorin’s hand. The King under the Mountain has shed his crown and cloak and sits on Bilbo’s bed, having given one of the few chairs to Balin who serenely sips his tea amid the sea of chaos.

I missed this, Bilbo thinks as he watches Nori and Gloin engage in a mock duel. Bofur engages on a loud retelling of the episode with the trolls (which is nothing like Bilbo remembers. For one there weren’t thirty trolls, and the certainly didn’t fight them off with their bare hands) and much to Dori’s consternation Fili idly starts juggling with the plates.

And Bilbo can scarcely believe that this is all for him.

Around him the tale grows even taller when Bofur changes the narrative to “and what did you do then, Ori?” Ori in turn tells them how with a precision shot of his slingshot he got three trolls at once; though obviously that’s not as good as Kili, who killed five trolls with a single arrow. By Bilbo’s count, the number of trolls killed now amounts to forty-five, and he stifles a laugh when Oin starts on how he took a troll out by shoving his ear horn into a certain body opening.

The room howls.

Next Bofur turns toward Thorin and Bilbo with a glint in his eye. “Now, in the meantime, our leader had already killed about ten trolls all on his own. However, he had gotten separated from the group, and then one of the trolls tripped him and we all thought he was done for,” Bofur exclaims, his arms dramatically spread. Bilbo notices Thorin merely raise an eyebrow in amusement. “We all were too far away! Except Bilbo, who … what did you do, Bilbo?”

Bilbo wets his lips, mind already making something up about disabling the troll through a well-placed kick, but when he opens his mouth, the air flickers.

Bofur’s eyes widen. The room falls silent, and Thorin’s despair-tinted “Bilbo” echoes at the same time that Kili glances over his shoulder to see an empty bed. “Bilbo!”

“I’m here.” Bilbo wants to say. He knows his voice won’t work. Knows he has no way of reassuring his friends, no way of dispelling the growing fear from Kili’s face, or the anxiety from Fili. The teacup in Balin’s grip trembles; Dori grips the hem of his jacket hard enough for the fabric to tear, and Thorin looks at the empty space with heartbreak in his eyes.

“I’m still here.” Bilbo wants to tell them. “Don’t worry. Don’t …”  Don’t forget me. Don’t leave me alone.

Because if he stays like this …

Terror coils in Bilbo’s stomach. An abyss opens in his chest, and he cannot see its bottom, does not know how deep this despair can reach.

“So… this is what happens?” Fili asks, his voice thin and tremulous. “Those are the … episodes?”

Oin glances aside and nods. “We still don’t know what causes them.”

“But you’ve written to Gandalf?” Dori wants to know, as he forces his fingers to relax.

“Gandalf and all other wizards or healers we could think of,” Thorin replies quietly, sadly.

Bilbo’s heart aches for him; aches with warmth and fear and joy and pain, because he never loved somebody as much as he loved Thorin, never had friends as dear and precious as these dwarves.

“How long do these episodes last?” Kili asks.

“They used to be very short,” Thorin says. “But they have been growing longer.”

The implications freeze everyone into silence. A heavy band wraps around Bilbo’s chest.

“But Bilbo is still here, isn’t he?” Bofur pipes up contemplatively. He tugs at his beard, as he usually does when coming up with a plan.  “He can still hear what we say, even if he can’t talk to us?”

Thorin blinks. “I believe so.”

Bofur smiles at the group. “Well. Then let’s continue with the stories until Bilbo reappears!”

If Bilbo had been corporeal, he’d have thrown his arms around Bofur and hugged him. He sees his friends stir and shift, before eventually Ori starts talking.

“When we first came to the Shire, I was really surprised at the place. It seemed too peaceful, and I wondered what was going on. Then we met the first hobbits, and I thought that, well, I was growing skeptical of what kind of person Gandalf had chosen,” Ori narrates, his eyes growing cloudy as he recalls the first meeting all those months ago.

Somebody chuckles, and Bilbo finds the knot in his own heart ease a little.

The dwarves take turns, telling their first impressions of the Shire, of hobbits, of Bilbo. Dori reveals that he’d rather been taken in by the lovely lace curtains he’d seen in Hobbiton. “Quite an upstanding place, I thought.”

Dwalin makes them all laugh by mentioning that he’d not been sure what to make of Bilbo – but his cooking skills, at least, had won him over.

By the time Ori, Dori, Nori, Dwalin, Balin, and Fili have told their stories, Bilbo finally flickers back into view. He breathes in relief, while Bofur claps his hands in joy; several voices exclaim his name and only Dwalin’s quick reaction stops Kili from tackling Bilbo. Like this, Kili only manages to ruffle Bilbo’s hair and say “I’m so glad you’re back.”

But I was never gone, Bilbo thinks, though he smiles and shrugs. “I’m glad, too.”

Balin hums thoughtfully. “So did you hear what we were talking about?”

“Everything,” Bilbo confirms, as his head begins to swim with relief, despite the fear lingering underneath. This was a very long episode – how long is the next one going to be? Or is the next one going to be the last one; the one where Bilbo disappears forever?

“I also know that Dwalin forgot to mention that the moment my back was turned he went straight for the cookies,” Bilbo adds, eliciting laughter. The air eases around them and he’s glad for it, despite the tension remaining coiled in his stomach.

Balin eventually stands up with a small yawn. “In any case, it has grown rather late, and I believe we all need our sleep,” he announces and waves at the rest to start moving. Kili grumbles in protest, though his eyelids are drooping.

“We’ll find a solution for this tomorrow, Bilbo,” Gloin promises. “Don’t worry, leave this to us.”

Warmed by the promise, Bilbo inclines his head. It also hides his expression – he wants to believe that promise, wants to believe Fili and Kili and everyone adding their own vows to Gloin’s words. But a dark sense of foreboding renders him doubtful.

“Is somebody going to stay with him tonight?” Ori asks just before leaving the room. “I mean, in case an episode occurs – just so we know.”

“I’ll stay with him,” Thorin rumbles from next to Bilbo.

Balin opens his mouth, about to protest, but then thinks better of it and smiles. “That’s a good idea.”

* * *

 

And with that, Bilbo and Thorin are left alone.

“Where are you going to sleep?” Bilbo asks as Thorin stands from the bed and stretches. “Don’t tell me you plan on sleeping in that chair?” As comfortable as the armchair looks, it will give Thorin a crick in the neck.

Thorin scratches his beard sheepishly. “I was?”

“At least get another cot or something,” Bilbo demands. “You need to sleep.” Thorin is the busiest of them all, and really, Bilbo ought to have protests somebody else stay with him during the night. Only his heart is selfish enough to want Thorin next to him.

Especially when this night might be the last time he gets to speak to him.

Thorin, unaware of the suffocating turmoil inside Bilbo, sighs. “I’d rather be next to you,” he says quietly. “So I notice when you… “ He swallows audibly, before settling back down at Bilbo’s bedside.

Bilbo swallows, and then shuffles over. “Then lie down next to me,” he says and his heart speeds up with hope. Thorin, next to him - it’s what he’s always wished for. “There isn’t much space, but we can fit.”

Thorin looks skeptical. “Are you certain? I’ve slept on worse than the chair.”

“Quite,” Bilbo answers. Thorin’s face softens into a smile.

“Very well.”

Thorin strips off his top layers and his shoes, before he slides under the blanket next to Bilbo. He radiates warmth, and maybe Bilbo shuffles a little closer. Thorin smiles gently at him and tells him to “sleep”.

And Bilbo closes his eyes.

* * *

 

He is woken by somebody shaking him and calling his name.

Bilbo blinks sluggishly, and reaches out blindly to make it stop. Instead the grip on his shoulders tightens, and he notices the despair in Thorin’s voice. “Bilbo, wake up! Bilbo, talk to me!”

His vision focuses to Thorin hovering over him, hair falling over his shoulders in disarray, and his eyes shining with fear. Bilbo’s heart aches, and fills with foreboding.

“Thorin, what?” he asks.

Thorin takes a deep gulp of air. “You were gone,” he says, and Bilbo can feel his fingers tremble. “You were gone for a very long time.”

Bilbo’s heart drops. “How long?”

“Hours,” Thorin replies quietly and draws him against his chest.

A spike of pain lances Bilbo’s heart. He curls up, closes his eyes, while his mind screams out in denial. Something in his chest is flickering, trembling, and a dark surety spreads through him: his time is running out.

“There is something,” Bilbo says at long last and looks up to meet Thorin’s pleading gaze. “I always wanted to tell you.” Cold sweat makes his clothes stick to his back, but it’s a grateful reminder that he’s corporeal. That he hasn’t disappeared yet.

For now.

He swallows glumly, while Thorin’s arms tighten around him.

“I didn’t think I should. I’m still not sure I should,” Bilbo continues, while his heart aches with could-have-beens. If he had told Thorin, maybe all would have gone well? Maybe he was afraid needlessly, maybe he should have kissed him on the night of his coronation. “I don’t want to burden you, but … I’m selfish.”

He chuckles, feels Thorin shakes his head, and long strands of dark hair interlaces with silver spill over Bilbo’s shoulder. “Never,” Thorin whispers.

Bilbo wonders if he won’t change his mind.

But he gathers himself, because if this is his last chance, he will not let it slip by. He recalls all too well the taste of regret when he buried his parents, thinking of all the things he had wanted to do, to say, but never found the right moment to. So he disentangles himself from the embrace without letting go of Thorin, seeks out those beautiful blue eyes, and finds the pain in them mirrors the ache in his own heart.

So many things he wished for.

If only he had more time…

“Thorin,” Bilbo says and his heart already feels lighter. “I love you. I –“

His voice cuts off.

The warmth around his shoulders vanishes. Bilbo’s heart drops, panic surges in his veins.

No, he thinks, no! Not now! Not when he hasn’t said everything, not when there is so much more he wants to tell Thorin!

Not when he hasn’t even gotten to kiss Thorin.

His heart breaks. He reaches out, his invisible fingers passing right through Thorin who stares at the empty air, upset and pained, and Bilbo wants to take that expression off him, wants him to smile and be happy, and this can’t be happening now! He hasn’t said his goodbyes!

Bilbo’s heart pounds and invisible tears spill from his eyes. He opens his mouth, screams soundlessly, but neither his words, nor his hands touch Thorin any longer.

“Bilbo?” Thorin stutters, his voice cracking. “Bilbo, no.” His hands linger where they were just wrapped around Bilbo, trembling now that only cool air surrounds them.

“I’m sorry, I’m here.” Bilbo says without a voice. “I’m sorry, I didn’t expect this. I love you, Thorin, I love you so much, and I want you to be happy. Please, you need to be happy, you sacrificed so much, and I love seeing you smile. We all love seeing you smile, and I never, never wanted to make you cry.”

“Please come back,” Thorin whispers, a watery shine to his eyes. He doesn’t reach up when the first tear spills over. “Please come back, Bilbo.”

The tear trickles down his cheek and vanishes into his beard, and Bilbo’s inexistent hand uselessly attempts to brush it aside.

“I love you, Bilbo.”

Oh, Bilbo thinks surprised. Oh.

He …

The air shifts. Some invisible band wrapped around Bilbo disperses. He feels lighter, easier – but his mind spins with Thorin’s confession, with the pained and joyful realization that his pining had never been one-sided. His affections are returned.

“Bilbo,” Thorin says, tremulously. A warm, broad hand touches Bilbo’s cheek and it’s like a flash of lightening running straight through Bilbo’s spine. He looks up, his own eyes wide in disbelief at the warmth he can feel on his skin. At the texture that rests solidly against him.

A faint, shaky smile spreads over Thorin’s face, all the brighter for his red-rimmed eyes. “You’re here.”

“Oh,” Bilbo breathes, incredulous. His hands shake so hard he barely manages to catch Thorin’s hand, but does and presses is against the side of his face. “I am.” His voice sounds broken, exhausted, but he feels so much lighter.

Thorin pulls him into his arms again. Presses Bilbo tightly against his chest, and Bilbo closes his eyes, relishes in the firm muscle he can feel through the thin cloth, the hair tickling his nose, and the fabric under his fingers. The hot tears running down his cheeks.

“I love you, Bilbo,” Thorin whispers into his ear, his breath warm against the skin of his ears. “I love you, and I will say it for as long as I have to if it means you stay with me. I won’t let you disappear, Bilbo, I won’t.”

No, Bilbo thinks as warmth spreads through his chest and the tears flow harder. Not Thorin. Thorin would turn over the entire world and never give up; and Bilbo loves him for it. He doesn’t know how he deserves him, but if Thorin wants him, he will stay with him for as long as Thorin will have him.

“I’ve loved you for so long,” Bilbo returns. “I stayed here, just to be at your side. If possible, I never wanted to leave.”

“Then don’t,” Thorin answers, almost aggressively. “Stay. Erebor is your home, and I, and everyone, we’ll be your family if you will have us.” He knocks his head gently against Bilbo’s, their breaths mingling.

Bilbo smiles, his heart growing lighter once more, and his sight is too blurry to make out Thorin clearly. “I’ll stay as long as you’ll have me.”

“Forever,” Thorin mumbles.

“Forever,” Bilbo promises and leans forward to kiss Thorin.

* * *

 

Bilbo wakes late the next morning, feeling better rested than he has in a while. His mind hesitates to believe his memories of last night, but then he notices Thorin sitting on the chair next to Bilbo’s bed, reading through a thick stack of documents.

“Thorin…” Bilbo mumbles instinctively.

The King under the Mountain glances up with affection in his eyes. “Good morning, Bilbo,” he greets. “How are you feeling?”

Bilbo blinks and slowly pulls himself into a sitting position. His body reacts sluggishly, but he feels solid. “Alright, I suppose.”

“Oin said to let you sleep for a bit longer, but he was happy you looked better,” Thorin tells him with a small smile. “I hope you do feel better.”

After last night - a flush crawls over Bilbo’s cheeks. “Quite,” he comments. “Did I … disappear again?”

Strangely enough, he doesn’t think so. Thorin’s denial does not come as a surprise - something has changed in Bilbo’s chest, somehow the oppressive taste of ash has vanished from his tongue.

“Hum,” Bilbo contemplates. “Maybe Kili was right after all.”

“What did he say?”

“He’d found some old story. Where a curse was resolved with a kiss - I dismissed it, but here we are.” Bilbo shrugs.

Thorin watches him closely. “If love was what it took, I only regret not acting any sooner.”

“You and me, both,” Bilbo replies lightly and reaches out to grasp Thorin’s knee. A larger hand soon covers his.

“Still,” Thorin says as he lifts up Bilbo’s hand to bring it to his lips. “Would you stay by my side today? Having seen you vanish like that, I don’t think I can bear being parted.”

Warm lips breaths a soft kiss on the back of Bilbo’s hand, and the hobbit smiles and agrees. “Of course.”

* * *

 

They stay side by side. At first nearly all day and all night, but as Bilbo fails to disappear again, they soon return to their individual duties. But they always return to each other’s side at night, and before long more promises are exchanged.

Plans are made. For spring, for summer, for a journey and a wedding.

And then, weeks later a letter from Gandalf arrives. He apologizes for being unable to travel to Erebor in winter, but assures them that Bilbo’s condition is entirely resolvable.

“It is likely that the creature Bilbo happened across was indeed a spy of the enemy,” Balin reads out loud in the small council room that has once again been crowded by all members of the company. Thorin purses his lips as he reads the letter’s first paragraph. “He had intended to use Erebor for his own purpose, and you all angered him terribly by foiling his plan. Perhaps he learned of what central role Bilbo took in your venture and thus aimed to make him disappear, or perhaps it was an act of revenge.”

Bilbo shudders as he recalls the creature towering over him; the burn of ice on his cheeks, and the hisses. Thorin instinctively reaches out to wrap an arm around him.

“Oh my,” Ori comments, pale-faced, while Dwalin glowers at the wall. He looks ready to stomp outside, track down the creature, and tear it limb from limb.

“But why didn’t it just kill Bilbo then?” Kili wonders out loud, and makes several dwarves in the room flinch and Thorin’s hand tightens. “If he wanted him gone… Sorry, Bilbo. I’m really glad it didn’t, obviously, but …”

Balin clears his throat. “Let me read the rest of the letter. I think it will answer your questions.”

Kili nods obediently and settles back on his chair.

“Perhaps the encounter may even be considered fortunate, as we learned that the enemy does not have enough power to kill. It is, however, a nasty curse. The effects are disconcerting, but can be undone with relatively little effort,” Gandalf writes from the south. “The curse itself was designed by Sauron himself to eliminate his enemies – no type of magic, no potion or rare plant itself can undo it. But there is a type of power that Sauron has always been weak against – the bonds of affection between lovers, friends, and families.”

Bilbo glances to Thorin and smiles wryly.

“Wordsand acts of love will undo the curse,” Gandalf pens. “They may need repeating, but I am certain that the love you hold for Bilbo will suffice to undo the curse.”

_The End_

 

**Author's Note:**

> For the longest time I wasn't sure what the curse was going to be. Sleeping spell? Hanahaki disease? Loss of sight/voice/hearing? Eventually the disappearing curse made it since it does parallel the Ring's power somewhat, even though the One Ring doesn't exist in *this* universe...
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed reading this, and I'd be glad to hear your thoughts!


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